


fight music!

by bentsage



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: M/M, Other, i'm so sorry??????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bentsage/pseuds/bentsage
Summary: Grunt is just doing his best to get by as a lowly Team Skull grunt, but life is hard, man.  The rent is due, the power is out, and the grunts sent out for groceries have gotten lost along the way.  Things don't get much easier for him when he finds himself helping out an injured Machamp - a strange, runaway Pokemon that brings more complicated problems than Grunt may be prepared to deal with.(rating for safety's sake of later chapters, who knows)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1st) i'm so sorry, i really am, and don't take this the wrong way but: i wouldn't be writing this if i didn't think it was necessary to address the machamp situation in sun/moon. i'm not even sure i'll be able to follow through on my swing here, although i hope i can, i love a challenge
> 
> 2nd) this is totally just on the fly, for fun, and i'm not sure how quickly i'll dive into anything ~spicy~, much less ~raunchy~. this is a challenge for me because pokemon/human relationships seem weird and complicated to me on multiple levels, so i keep wanting to get distracted by the possible discourse instead of the plot. but hopefully i'll overcome that, because c'mon, four hands? this is logical right?
> 
> 3rd) i'm as sure about this as you are, if you think i should add a tag let me know

            There's plenty to be proud about when you're a member of Team Skull.  For one, you have total run of an entire town, where nobody will stop you from practicing your tag across every wall, or from smashing bottles in the street, or having all out Pokemon battles in destroyed bungalows.  There's also the fact that just being in Team Skull gives even the lowliest grunt a level of notoriety that they probably couldn't have achieved on their own.  Then there are the schemes, always just for fun, always made right when the bills start showing up on pink paper slips, most only pulled off by sheer luck and bumbling coincidence -

            Well, shit.  The more Grunt thinks about it, the less baller it actually seems; good for him, though, he happens to be great at not thinking.  For one split second, Grunt nearly comes to the realization that Po Town is actually _not_ a great place to live, before he abruptly changes trains of thought, popping the curb with a pleased yell as he takes his bike down the slope, onto the black sand beach.  Not many people in Alola ride bikes, but Grunt's had his since he moved to the island at thirteen, and it's better than walking by a mile.  As a bonus, it's the one item he owns that none of the other grunts want to steal - he's caught more than a few wobbling their way out of his room with it, but they don't have the balance for it and they've mostly given up on trying to figure it out.

            Grunt's bike doesn't have tires that can take the sand, so he swings off of it to walk it the rest of the way.  He doesn't exactly want to be going out to the abandoned Megamart, especially this close to sundown, but a couple of grunts who were sent out for food haven't come back yet, and he'd drawn the short straw when it came time to look for them.  He wouldn't have even bothered, but Guzma gets cranky as hell without his snacks, and Grunt could go for some chips himself.  He wouldn't even _have_ to do this if they could all just fly everywhere like they do in Kanto, but of course Alola is so _weird_ about ride Pokemon.  Anyway, most of the grunts in Team Skull would never be allowed to use ride Pokemon in the first place - but isn't that part of being in a notorious gang?

            Grunt stops himself from thinking about all that, either, because it makes his head hurt.  Just like it hurts when he thinks about how they're stuck raiding an abandoned Megamart this month, because the whole slowpoke tail thing turned out to be a bust when the Aether Corporation put the kibosh on it almost immediately.  All of their money is pooled to keep the lights on; they don't have a lot left over for food.

            The gate is locked, but Grunt knows where the break is in the chain link fence, leaving his bike at the gate and climbing through the narrow gap some other grunt had made with a bolt cutter some months ago.  He doesn't hear any noise from inside, which isn't a good sign as far as grunts go - Grunt doesn't know a single one of them that has a volume below eleven.  If they turn out to not be here, Grunt's not sure _what_ he's gonna do - he's definitely not gonna be the one to tell Guzma that more grunts have ditched the team, or worse, been arrested for trespassing.  They're already coming up short on their bills - there ain't no way they can afford multiple bails on top of food and utilities.

            Well, he's not gonna find them by standing around the fence like part of the scenery.  He has his Salandit on him, and it's healed up enough that if they run into trouble, they'll be able to get out of it.  At least, that's what he's hoping, simultaneously wishing for some repel so he wouldn't have to worry about it in the first place.  He pulls his bandana up over his nose to protect against the dust he knows he's going to find inside and heads up to the doors, wincing when he rattles them and finds them locked.  The only other entrance is through the partially demolished back bay, and Grunt isn't really up for climbing through a bunch of debris just to find a few dumb idiots who had probably decided to gorge themselves on expired food and then get sick like a couple of _dumb_ _idiots_...

            Grunt makes his way around back with a weary sigh, hand reflexively checking for his pokeball every few steps.  The path is overgrown but still used enough to be recognizable, and he winds around the building until the bay is in sight, dark and quiet.  Grunt tries hard not to let his fear overwhelm him, but for a minute there it's a close thing - this place is certifiably creepy, and if there's one type of Pokemon Grunt doesn't want to deal with, it's ghosts, but...

            Damn it.  They all need snacks, and if these knuckleheads don't come back, then that's two fewer paychecks to rely on when the bills come.  Or worse - what if the totem got them?  He'd be a punk for not helping them out if that were the case, and that nonsense would definitely get back to the boss.

            Forging forward with as much swagger as he can muster without anyone around to see how full of it he is, Grunt heads to the back bay and pulls himself up the short wall of the loading dock, looking around to make sure it's safe before calling out, "Yo, any of you numbskulls out here?"

            There's no answer.  He moves deeper into the back, heading from the loading bay into the partially demolished storage room, and calls out again.  "Team Skull representing, y'all best not be fronting, if you're trying to get me freaked, well, I ain't that meek!"

            Still nothing, which is a good sign that there's no other grunts around.  A few sick rhymes getting thrown down usually is enough to bring even the lowest grunt out of hiding.  Still - if they aren't here, then where _are_ they?

            He's positive that his curiosity is going to get him killed, but even then, Grunt can't help but creep deeper into the storeroom, the deepening shadows making it a worse idea by the second.  He finds the double doors into the main storefront and gives the handles a sharp yank.

            Locked.

            Well, no wonder they aren't here.  They couldn't get in, so they probably wound up heading into town to try and find food on a budget.  Looks like the free ride didn't pay off - somebody must have tipped off the captain, or else she must have figured out that they were coming in looking for supplies.  He can't say he isn't a little grateful that they're locking the trial site up more - the place is dangerous, even without the totem lurking, and most of the grunts (himself included) aren't up to handling the Pokemon inside.  That's sort of the reason most of them are in Team Skull, after all.  Guzma's probably gonna be pretty pissed about it, though, and Grunt isn't looking forward to dealing with that.

            In his defeat, he almost doesn't see the shape lurking behind the partially collapsed shelves near the back corner.  Grunt turns obliviously, his eyes sweeping over the dark figure and only registering it in a passing, matter-of-fact sort of way before the absolute horribleness of what he's seeing abruptly fills him.  For a moment, he's rooted to the spot, the black smudge hidden behind the shelves just barely in his peripheral vision as he stares straight ahead towards the gaping exit, the sky dark orange and blue-black.  He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn and take it in properly, but when he looks directly towards it, his brain tries hard to shut itself entirely down.  He wraps his hand tight around the pokeball in his pocket, staring at the sky, at freedom.  All at once, his feet start to move, dragging him quickly towards the safety of the outside; to his horror, the shape follows him, disappearing behind the shelves only to appear at the far end just as Grunt picks up the pace into a quick jog.

            In this different light, Grunt has time to see its gray skin and its alarming size, standing nearly as tall as him.  He wonders if it's the totem, coming to chase him off once and for all, until it lunges for him with meaty, physical fists, two grabbing him by the front of his shirt and another two going for his arms.  It happens so fast that Grunt only has time to think, _this is happening so fast!_ , and then his back slams against the crumbling cement wall, feet a solid foot off the ground, pinned in place by a snarling, wild Machamp.  The thing looks at him as though it's imagining putting one of its fists through his face, and although Grunt had always known Pokemon could attack people if they weren't careful, he's stunned stupid by the newfound trueness of that fact.  From the dark, fresh set of scars across its face, it's not afraid to throw down, and the way it's disabled him so easily, it's probably gone toe-to-toe with humans before.  Which means that Grunt is screwed, in the most royal sense of the word.

            Grunt's pokeball is still in hand, pinned though it is, and he flails wildly as he tries to get his fingers over the release button.  Without so much as a glance at what's happening, the Machamp squeezes his wrist so tight that his hand spasms.  Grunt yelps as the pokeball springs from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

            Completely unarmed, Grunt can't do anything but struggle and try to hide his fear through bluster and swearing.  As his kicks do nothing and the hands at his neck weigh against his throat, the Machamp's expression begins to change.  The heated rage gives way to confusion that sinks into neutrality as the Machamp eventually relaxes its grip on him.  For a moment it lets him hang there, and then drops him all at once, moving back as though it means to disappear into the shadows again.  Before Grunt can even entertain the thought of trying to stop it, much less trying to catch it, it missteps and staggers backwards into the shelves, broken storage bins and bits of debris clattering to the floor as the shelves groan under the sudden weight.  Grunt lunges for his pokeball, elbows scraping on the cement as he rolls for it; he expects the Machamp to bolt, but he's not going to be caught without his Pokemon a second time around.  He comes up on his knees, his pokeball clutched to his chest, fingers already pressing on the button, and sees the Machamp staring back at him, upper elbows hooked around the shelving for support.

            Neither of them move, which makes sense on Grunt's part - he's a grunt, after all - but makes a lot less sense for a wild, rare, _strong_ Pokemon.  Even when a Zubat or Fearow attacks, they usually only stick around long enough to cause a little mayhem before taking off for safety.  They never stick around to finish the job, and they don't stick around long enough for Grunt to catch them.  But instead of bolting, or putting Grunt's head through the wall once and for all, the Machamp just leans and glares at him.  Grunt blinks stupidly in its direction, eyes sweeping over the muscled arms that are one wrong move away from choking the life out of him, catching sight of scattered scrapes, cuts and older scars across its chest.

            Grunt realizes it isn't going anywhere, because it _can't_ go anywhere.  Its left ankle is swollen and bruised; above it, something with a mouth full of razor teeth bit down around the shin bone as though it'd wanted to break it.  The bite is scabbing and oozing purple pus at the same time.  It looks... well, bad.  Grunt doesn't have the medical know-how to come up with a better term for it - it's just _really not good_.  His thumb comes off the release on his pokeball - although honestly, his Salandit probably knows better what to do right now than he does - and he slowly straightens up.  He resists getting to his feet as the Machamp grimaces at him, deciding to stay low for now.

            "It's cool," he says, reaching up to pull his bandana down, taking a deep breath of the cooling, dusty air to calm his nerves.  A low rumbling growl from the Machamp unsteadies them all over again, but as a Skull grunt, he's great at putting on a show of false confidence.  "Hey, hey," he says, holding up his free hand, "I ain't looking for a fight, bro."  He's not sure how much it's going to understand - he's only ever communicated with captured Pokemon.  Wild Pokemon have to be different, right?

            Its head turns and it glares pointedly at his pokeball, still in hand, but Grunt isn't about to do anything stupid like put it away.  "It's just my buddy.  He definitely isn't strong enough to take you, _I'm_ no match for you, and _you_ don't look like you're up for a fight either.  Right?"

            It glares at him, shifting its weight onto its good leg, trying to untangle itself from the shelves as if to prove him wrong.  Desperation makes Grunt look for something to barter with, and he gestures to its bad leg.  He asks, "Is that why you were nosing around here?  Looking for potions or something?  'Cos, maybe I can help, if you don't kill me first."

            It... stops moving.  For a moment, it looks at him with the same fiery hate that it had when it first attacked, but its shoulders give after a short and intense staring contest, going back to relying on the shelves for support.  Grunt assumes the grumbling noise it makes is agreement, and pushes himself to his feet, reassured when it doesn't immediately try to lunge for him again.  "All right, cool.  We're cool.  Bro, that leg looks messed _up_.  Good thing you didn't get in, 'cos this place is full of ghosts, man.  You'd get trashed."

            Before it gets a chance to be pissed about what he's doing, Grunt releases his Salandit; it spits as it materializes on the floor, a little burst of flame jetting down its spine before it settles with a curious noise and a half-upside-down head tilt in Grunt's direction.  "Hey, Buddy," he says, distracting himself from the Machamp in the hope that it'll see what an unthreatening coward he is.  "I need you to do something for me."

            Buddy turns his head back around, flames jetting briefly as he bristles at the sight of the Machamp staring them down.  As much a coward as Grunt, he skitters back, twining between Grunt's feet before risking another look.  Grunt expects the Machamp to be distracted by Buddy's moving around, but when he looks up from his Salandit, the Machamp is staring right back at him with an unreadable expression on its face.  He's not sure what it's supposed to mean, but it makes him uncomfortable, so he looks quickly back to Buddy.  "We ain't fighting," he tells the Salandit, who blinks up at him warily.  "But you need to get inside the store and get something for me.  Or, well..."

            He gestures, and Buddy follows his hand with his eyes, squinting curiously at the swollen ankle that must be right at his eye level.  Before Grunt can stop him, Buddy skitters forward; the Machamp nearly lashes out, but manages to hold itself back as Buddy rests its front claws on its foot and peers at the bite wound.  He wants to reach out and grab his Salandit away for his own safety, but he resists as Buddy begins to chatter at the Machamp with a strange intensity that Grunt's not used to from the comparatively tiny Pokemon.  Stranger still, the Machamp responds, grunting a few monosyllabic noises before Buddy scurries away into the dark towards the store, without so much as a backwards glance at Grunt.

            It's a miracle that Buddy listens to Grunt as much as he does; realistically, he's a more powerful Pokemon than Grunt is capable of controlling, but he's a glutton and Grunt is always willing to give him as many beans and berries as he wants, so he sticks around and does his best to have Grunt's back in battles - at least the ones Buddy knows he can win.  Still, it'd be nice to be included a little in whatever the heck the two Pokemon were talking about - he knows he's the odd man out, and all, but a quick pantomime or _something_ would be cool.

            He looks at the Machamp and finds it staring again, even more unnerving now that his only Pokemon has effectively abandoned him.  He can only hope Buddy finds what the Machamp needs without running into any trouble.  He knows that Buddy doesn't need him telling him how to fight, sure, but that doesn't mean he's going to know how to deal with a malicious spirit in a pinch.

            The silence stretches out from seconds into minutes, the only noises coming from the creaking old building and the light wind blowing leaves into the storage room.  Grunt scowls at the leaves as they drift by him, listening closely for any sign of distress from Buddy.  His Pokemon is capable of handling himself, and quiet enough to not need to fight, but Grunt can't help but worry.  It'd be his fault if something bad happened to the little guy, after all.

            A strange sound fills the air, a sort of metal scraping noise, as a dented metal bottle rolls from the darkness near where Buddy disappeared.  Before Grunt's fear gets the best of him, Buddy flares his back flames in greeting and comes skittering in with a narrow plastic tube held delicately between his teeth.  Grunt meets him halfway, picking up the canister and then the tube, which Buddy spits out of his mouth as though he's glad to be rid of it.  The bottle is an off-brand health drink, with a Kalos label guaranteeing "50% less bitter taste!"  The tube of antidote, decked in Alolan Muk colors, is past its expiration, but it's better than nothing.  He should have figured from the way the bite looked that it was poisoned; he pats Buddy on the head as he spits out the taste of the antidotal plastic, then turns to squint suspiciously at the Machamp.

            "You're not gonna put the beatdown on me if I help you out, right?" he asks, holding out the energy drink as he gets within grabbing range.  The Machamp hesitates, then reaches out with its lower left arm and takes the bottle with a startling amount of caution.  It twists the cap off and unceremoniously guzzles down the contents; if it's bitter, the Machamp doesn't seem to notice, and when Grunt settles on his knees next to its feet, it doesn't lash out with a foot or a spare hand.  Grunt watches one of its fists clench as he squeezes the antidote across the wound; he knows just how painful the process can be, since he's had to suffer more than a few bites from Buddy, so he pats the Machamp's knee twice in sympathy.  The health drink seems to be doing its job, and the Machamp's ankle is already looking less swollen and nasty than before.  The paste across the bite mark, meanwhile, turns from white to purple as it pulls the poison from the wound, just like it's supposed to.

            The Machamp crushes the bottle instinctively when it's finished with it, and although its ankle still doesn't look too great, it's probably less painful than before.  Grunt looks up at it, finds it staring back down at him, and quickly leans back so far that he has to rely on his arms for support.  "That's all I got, bro," he says.  "So, we cool?"

            It stares down at him as though it suddenly can't understand him, even though until now it seemed pretty on the ball.  It's squinting, though Grunt can't tell if it's a matter of suspicion or bad night vision.  At last, it nods twice, glaring briefly at Buddy beyond them before looking over its shoulder towards the store proper.  "What are you gonna do," Grunt scoffs, "Get beat down by a ghost?  I wouldn't go in there, man."

            Buddy chirps as though he agrees, and the Machamp scowls at the doors for a long moment before some sort of light flips on in Grunt's mind.  He realizes with a startling amount of sympathy that this guy's got nowhere to go.  Grunt's never heard of a Machamp being raised up in the wild, but even if they were a thing, he doesn't think they'd be all the way down here on the beach, much less in such bad shape.  He doesn't know if he's somebody's Pokemon, or if he's just got really terrible luck, or _what_ his deal is, but Grunt knows the uncertainty that comes along with not having a place to go.  Heck, Grunt himself had joined the team just because he'd had to move out of his parents' place without a backup plan.  He'd meant it to be temporary, but like most other grunts, he'd wound up liking the certainty of Po Town, and the security of being in Team Skull.  And if it helped _him_ , well - why shouldn't he help somebody else out?  Even if that somebody is a Pokemon, and not strictly the usual kind of recruit?

            "Yo, real talk with me, Buddy," Grunt calls over his shoulder, feeling more than hearing the Salandit scamper over to him.  "You think we got room in Team Skull for this guy?"  The Machamp bristles as Grunt and Buddy both look to him, tensing as though he's prepared to bolt at the sight of another pokeball.  "I don't need another thick-skulled Pokemon on my team, bro," he says, aiming for dismissive.  "I don't even have a pokeball to use on you, anyway."  Truthfully, Grunt can imagine the prestige catching a Machamp might get him in Po Town, considering this one's tough appearance, but he has enough trouble with Buddy, and the Machamp's clearly more powerful than either of them put together.  There's no way he's going willingly into a pokeball, and Grunt isn't about to try to wrangle him.

            Buddy turns his head to fix the Machamp in his sight, before pointedly ignoring Grunt as he bats his pokeball and triggers his own recall.  The ball rocks gently on the cement, and Grunt stares at it wearily for a moment before turning back to the Machamp, whose eyes are fixed on the pokeball as though he's just seen a baffling magic trick.

            "Let me ask you something," Grunt begins, cringing as the Machamp raises his upper arms over his head, no longer relying on the shelves for support, completely capable of kicking Grunt into next week if he wants to.  Grunt clears his throat and continues in as nonchalant a manner as he can.  "You got somewhere else you're gonna go?"

            The Machamp stares, but when Grunt doesn't continue, he answers with a grumbling shake of his head.  "You on the run?" he asks, and the startled look he receives in response is enough to tell him the answer is yes.  He takes a wild guess and asks, "Somebody got you in a pokeball already?"

            The Machamp looks at him with easy-to-read shock, his teeth gritted behind closed lips.  His jaw works, and for a moment Grunt expects him to say something, even if Grunt won't be able to understand it, but in the end he just nods, a slow, almost defeated gesture.  Grunt had mostly been stabbing in the dark, but the realization doesn't feel like much of a shock.  It would explain the way the Machamp had stared at him and Buddy working together, and the way he looks at Buddy's pokeball, even now glancing at it as though it might try to suck him up, too.

            "Well," Grunt sighs, stretching out his arms before swinging his legs over one another as he pushes onto his feet.  The story he knows so far tells him one thing - this guy, Pokemon or not, has the same background any other grunt might.  And even if there's a chance the electricity will have been shut off by the time he gets home, Grunt can't imagine a better place for someone without anywhere else to go.  At the end of the day, pink slip bills and scavenging for food still has more purpose than lurking around a haunted, abandoned Megamart.  "If you don't got a place, and you don't know where you're gonna go, there's only one place left for you, and that's Po Town.  If nobody wants you, or you don't want nobody, the only thing left for you is Team Skull.  So, you can do whatever you want, but _I'm_ getting outta here, and if you're gonna come with me, you better keep up."

            There's no such thing as a soft sell of Team Skull - there's only the stone cold truth, and the fact that not everybody is cut from Team Skull material.  But before he even reaches the wall, he can hear the groan of metal as it's relieved of the Machamp's weight, and when he glances back, he sees the Pokemon staggering after him with a determined expression on his face.  Grunt nods, unable to keep the smug grin off his face even as the Machamp glares in response, limping behind by five or six feet.  He slows his pace once they reach the front, one lone streetlight flickering over the chain link fence.  The destroyed store isn't so scary when you're moving away from it, but Grunt doesn't linger for long by the fence anyway, showing the Machamp through the gap before climbing out himself.  His bike is still sitting there, and he pulls it along with them without a thought.

            The Machamp keeps close to the cliffside as they cross the black sand beach, and whenever Grunt looks at him, he's got his eyes warily on the dark ocean.  Grunt wishes there was an easy way to talk to Pokemon - he can communicate his own thoughts fine, but even Buddy is hard to pin down, as patient as the Salandit tries to be.  A wild (or, well, _runaway_ ) Pokemon is nearly impossibly to really talk to.  There's no way to get all of his history from the Machamp without an intense game of charades that neither of them have time for right now.

            The walk off the beach and up the road is quiet, aside from the occasional far-off Pokemon calls and the sound of their footsteps.  Grunt begins to realize that he's essentially stealing somebody's Pokemon - it's a matter of semantics, but it makes him feel pretty badass, all things considered.  None of the other grunts bring home Pokemon like this guy, that's for sure.  A couple slowpokes is nothing compared to a Machamp covered in battle marks, full of that inner swagger that makes Team Skull the number one gang in the region.  He isn't just stealing a Pokemon; he's recruiting a new member.  Hopefully the Boss will see that, too, and think it's as badass as Grunt does.

            The path around the water-logged part of Route 16 drops them off on the eastern edge of Ula'ula Meadow, the fog lying heavily across the expanses of red flowers and making the dock-styled pathways through the flower fields damp and slick.  Grunt's been through here enough times to not look twice at the rustling flowers or flinch at the distant Oricorio calls; on the other hand, the Machamp is on edge the entire time, head constantly bobbing left and right as he looks every direction for any potential threats.  Grunt wonders what the deal is, but as the Machamp's pace slows, realization begins to creep over him.  The Pokemon's definitely not native to the island, and maybe he isn't even native to Alola - for all Grunt knows, he broke away from some overzealous sightseer from Kanto.  He's probably never seen a place like this - Grunt hadn't until he'd moved to Po Town himself, so he can relate.

            "Yo," he says, looking over to the Machamp as he lifts his hands to rest behind his head, "Are you native?  From around here," he clarifies, because he's not sure the concept of being native is common to Pokemon.  The Machamp frowns, meeting Grunt's eyes before looking down to the wooden planking.  He shakes his head.  Grunt waits until he looks back to him, his eyes darting between Grunt and the ground once before meeting Grunt's gaze with more certainty, and then asks, "And you're _sure_ you don't wanna get back where you belong?"

            There's no hesitation from the Machamp as he nods.  There's no misinterpreting him, no miscommunication - he wants out of whatever pokeball he's supposed to be in, and he's not going to let something like ownership stand in his way.  Which sounds pretty Team Skull to Grunt, anyway, bringing a grin bubbling to his face as he reaches over and slaps the Machamp across his upper shoulder, laughing away the startled glare he receives.  "We are gonna hook you _up_ , homie!  Team Skull's never said no to a Pokemon that _wanted_ to be stolen, you feel me?  And if you're runnin' from somebody, well, they're not gonna come lookin' for you in Po Town."

            The Machamp grunts at him, turning his head back towards the flowers.  Grunt laughs again, mostly to himself and mostly for no reason, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leads the way out of the meadow and onto the long, dirt path back home.  It isn't long before Grunt hears shouting coming from up the street, the Machamp's pace slowing behind him at the sound.  Considering how close they are to home, it's a safe bet it's just some Skull grunts messing around.  Grunt gestures for the Machamp to catch up and says, "It's probably those numskulls I was lookin' for in the first place.  Don't flip."  He picks up his pace to prove his point, doubling his speed until he rounds the bend and finds two grunts with big, bulging bags of snack foods and sodas on the ground between them as they sort out the weight.  They see him coming and nearly drop the bags in their hands as they throw signs his way.

            "The hell happened, knuckleheads?" Grunt accuses, jabbing a finger at the two of them, "You're gone so long the Boss sends me out specially to get y'all and you ain't even where you said you'd _be_?"

            "Man, there ain't anywhere I'm supposed to _be_ ," the grunt on the left drawls, trying to nonchalantly examine her nails while her arms are weighed down.  "I don't need no babysitter."

            "Yeah, man, we go where we _want_ , and there weren't gonna be any malasada sales in that hole!" the grunt on the right shouts, before jabbing a finger accusingly in return, hovering somewhere between Grunt and the Machamp lurking behind him.  "What's up, homie?  You stop to steal somebody's Pokemon on the way back?"

            "Ph, _no_ ," Grunt says, crossing his arms, leaning back in a slouch that brings him nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the Machamp, "This bro stole him _self_ , homie!"

            "For real?" the left grunt asks, eyebrows rising as she stares at the Machamp.  "How's a Pokemon steal itself?"

            The Machamp grunts a monosyllabic answer that none of them can translate, although Grunt attempts his own creative interpretation.  "Why you gotta ask so many questions?" he drawls, lifting his hands helplessly and shaking his head, "The only person anybody's gotta answer to is the Boss, yo!  Neither of us got time to field your dumbass questions."

            "Don't have to be a jerk about it," she replies sulkily, turning purposefully away to pick up more bags.  Grunt waits for them to tell him to help, but then he realizes that they're both too proud - as any grunt would be - and he takes it upon himself, coming up between them to take on some of the weight.  The Machamp stays where he is, but Grunt isn't about to ask him to help.  Even if he wanted to, the guy's leg is probably too beat up for heavy lifting.

            Once the three of them have all the bags in hand, the left grunt pulls down her bandana to flash Grunt a grin.  "Thanks, bro," she says, and Grunt finds himself grinning back under his own mask.  "We cleared out the clearance, yo!  Malasada for _days_!"

            "Better than dealin' with those messed up ghosts, yo," the right grunt says.  They start up the street, while Grunt waits for the Machamp to close the few feet of distance first.  The Machamp keeps pace better this time, only a few steps behind; just as the hill starts to get steep, he reaches out and unceremoniously pulls the bags Grunt has out of his hand.  He doesn't look at Grunt as he does it, either; just scoops the handles from underneath his hand and pulls the plastic free.  Grunt squints at him, pulling his bandana down to scowl in his direction, but he doesn't look back, and eventually the tall exterior walls of Po Town command both of their attentions.

            There are scattered groups of grunts hanging around the exterior wall, some hunting the tall grass for Pokemon, others picking meaningless fights with one another - their arguments and shouting are as relaxing to Grunt as the quiet Oricorios calling in the meadow, and he pulls his bandana back up with a confident gesture as the four of them roll up to the outside gate.  The left grunt looks back to Grunt and then the Machamp when she sees where the bags have gone, asking, "You think he's ready to meet the boss, homie?  He's gonna be mad upset we took so long, yo."

            "Man, he ain't fit to meet the Boss," the right grunt replies, throwing his hands around as best he can holding all the stuff he's holding, "I don't think he even knows what it means to be in a gang like Team Skull!"

            "Hey, he's _ready_ to meet the Boss," Grunt snaps, doing a better job of gesturing wildly with his own free hands.  "We just don't _feel_ like making the rounds.  He can do it tomorrow."

            "Weak!" the left grunt exclaims, "You just wanna get him in a pokeball before Guzma gets a chance, yo!"

            The Machamp growls, threateningly enough to use in battle, and the grunts are immediately cowed by the sound.  "Hey, we were just messin'," the right grunt insists, gesturing somewhat apologetically towards the Machamp.

            "He ain't big on pokeballs _or_ being caught," Grunt warns, "So you better not mess around like that, if you wanna keep all your limbs."

            "Alright, alright, jeeze," the right grunt mumbles.

            "Well, we're gonna take all this straight to the Boss.  Hand 'em over, big guy," the left grunt says, holding her hands out to the Machamp, who stares unblinkingly for a moment before slowly putting the bags into her waiting arms.  She squints at both of them before wordlessly pushing one of the smaller bags into Grunt's hands; even a few days old, Grunt can smell the cinnamon malasadas inside.  This close to the mansion, they won't go long without more help, so Grunt lets them go with a not-so-friendly gesture that's returned by another, even less friendly one, followed by raucous laughter as the two of them weave past the barricades and off towards the mansion.

            Grunt isn't in a rush, and instead looks to the Machamp with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.  Machamp looks around, squinting at the wandering grunts and their equally meandering Pokemon, and then finally looks to Grunt with questions written clearly all over his face.  "Like I said, homie!  Ain't nobody comin' for you here."  He tilts his head towards a house near the middle of the street, covered in graffiti with a boarded up front window.  "Follow me if you want, but here on out, you do whatever you want, yo.  Nobody sets rules for nobody but the Boss, you got me?"  At his curious look, Grunt shrugs his shoulders.  "You'll meet him tomorrow.  Until then, I got a place you can sleep in, unless you wanna lay low at the Pokecenter with some of the other Pokemon."

            Despite all his brazen words, Grunt is relieved when he starts walking and the Machamp follows him; even if what he's saying is true, it doesn't technically apply to _Pokemon_.  At least, he's not sure if it does - most of the time, Pokemon come to them either through theft, or by being caught.  There are wild Murkrows and some feral Meowths at the police station, but for the most part, this Machamp is the first Pokemon Grunt's heard about to make his way to Po Town willingly.  He's not even sure the other grunts would see him as anything more than a wild Pokemon.  He can only assume the other grunts would take one look at the Machamp's scars and give him space, but he doesn't know for sure.

            He shares the house his room is in with other grunts, although he's never sure who's staying with him at any given time - most of them are transient, staying for nights at a time before winding up in another house, or leaving Po Town for whatever reason.  He's made his room his own by padlocking the door, which is maybe frowned on around town, but nobody's going to stop him.  If somebody wants his room, they're gonna have to know how to take it from him.

            The rest of the house is empty, which works just fine for Grunt.  He leads the Machamp down the hall, stomping on the peeling carpet in front of his door as he opens the lock and heads in.  The Machamp follows, stopping to stand awkwardly in the doorway as Grunt pulls off his beanie and bandana, tugging Buddy's pokeball out of his pocket and releasing the Salandit with a careless tap of the button.  Buddy takes one look around before heading to the desk, climbing into the drawer through the empty space above it and disappearing into the dark.  Grunt turns on the electric lanterns he has positioned through the room; he's long since gone off the grid for most of his energy needs, mostly out of necessity.

            "Close the door, yo," he finally says, flopping onto the short stack of mattresses he's piled in the corner, pulling the plastic bag into his lap.  "We got some malasadas and some soda, and a couple candy bars too.  I'mma share with you this one time, 'cos I'm being nice, but if you're gonna be in Team Skull, you're gonna have to look out for yourself, too."

            The Machamp actually rolls his eyes at Grunt, which draws a startled laugh out of him.  He closes the door behind him and takes a few cautious steps into the room.  Buddy sticks his head out of the drawer as Grunt opens the noisy plastic container, and Grunt tosses him a few chunks before taking a big bite out of one himself.  He waits until the Machamp stands nearly in front of him before he holds the container up, and watches with interest as he decides which one to take.  In the buzzing lamplight, it's easier to see the battered condition the Machamp's in.  His tough head ridges are chipped; the set of three scars trail dangerously close to his eye, as though only luck kept the claws that did it from getting him in the eye.  In the warehouse he had looked pretty scarred up, but now Grunt can see fainter scars layered under fresher, darker ones that had originally caught his eye.

            The Machamp is staring at him and Grunt realizes with a jolt that he's been staring too, though mostly at his tensely strung shoulders and the scars that hint at things Grunt can only guess at.  It's that same, weird look from the warehouse, an intense, calculating look, guarding a visible uncertainty, and Grunt can only meet it for so long before he has to look away, pulling the container back into his lap when he realizes the Machamp already has what he wants.  He doesn't see his face when he laughs, but the sound shocks him into looking back at him again, watching his shoulders move with at the end of the brief, rumbling chuckle.  The Machamp looks around his room and for a moment Grunt actually feels kind of bad about how crappily he's living, but there's a strangely contented look on the Machamp's face as he munches on a malasada and squints at Buddy's hidey-hole, then out the window, before finally looking back to Grunt.

            "We good?" he asks, unable to help himself.  He's surprised by another sound like the laugh before, quieter now, and then the Machamp answers him by unceremoniously taking to the mattress, moving from sitting to lying so quickly that Grunt doesn't have time to retaliate.  "Hey, yo!  This ain't your bed!"

            The Machamp doesn't seem phased by his shouting in the slightest - and, well, they _both_ know he isn't going to be able to move him, so Grunt gives in with a reluctant shrug.  "Fine, whatever.  Just 'cos I'm a good guy, we can share, just this once.  But you're gonna have to fight me for real next time!"

            The Machamp rolls his eyes, huffs, and rolls over, turning away from Grunt and into the wall.  Grunt takes another malasada and breaks it in half, throwing one half into Buddy's hidey-hole before chewing on the other himself, staring thoughtlessly at the Machamp's back.  Unsurprisingly, it's covered in the same spattering of old and new scars; there are enough that Grunt really has to wonder what the hell happened to him.  Who would put a Pokemon through so much that it'd actually choose to run away?  Hell, who would put _anyone_ through that kind of damage, period?

            Well, he decides, if anyone's going to figure out the story, it's going to be the Boss.  He has a way of getting to the bottom of things, and fixing it all with his stubborn badassery.  Guzma's a person to look up to, and Grunt isn't afraid to admit that he does just that.  Tomorrow, Grunt can take the Machamp over to the mansion and get everything figured out - until then, the only thing Grunt can do is eat, drink, and catch up on his comics.  It's a good routine, and it lasts until one of the lanterns abruptly goes out as the battery dies, and by then Grunt is tired enough not to even mind that the latest issue is a cliffhanger.  He gives up on getting up to turn the other one off, even if it means the battery might die, and puts his back to the Machamp's as he finally passes out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grunt has a rude awakening, and takes the Machamp to see the Boss.

            When Grunt was eleven years old, a few years before he dyed his hair and changed his name, his mornings were punctuated by his Arbok alarm clock.  It would go off at seven in the morning with the shrill recorded shriek of a real life Arbok.  The plastic head would clack forward and back, its hood fanning out with every lunge, and if he wasn't careful he'd get his hand nipped by its plastic fangs as he went to hit the snooze button.  The alarm clock had gotten lost sometime during the move to Alola, and the replacement his parents had gotten him was an average digital alarm, one that didn't bite him if he tried to snooze it.  He'd learned how to sleep through its buzzer before too long, and then his mom would have to wake him up on her way out the door, which became a whole other hassle he hadn't wanted to deal with.

            Nobody in Team Skull owns an alarm clock, and nobody wakes anybody up just because it's _time_ to get up.  With no morning appointments or pressing business or, well, much of _anything_ to do, there's no need to get up until sleeping stops being fun.  Grunt, for his part, usually doesn't wake up until the sun is high enough to climb through the broken blinds on his window, squinting in his sleep against the bright rays of light before rolling over to bury his face in the comforting darkness of his pillows.

            This morning isn't much different, although his blanket feels heavier than usual.  Sometimes Buddy climbs on top of him for added warmth, but he isn't that heavy, and he rolls around when Grunt moves.  The pillows he's hiding his face in are harder than normal, too.  Grunt yawns, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and finds himself face-to-chest with the Machamp from yesterday, his broad muscles rising and falling in a comfortable, sleeping rhythm.  For a second, Grunt doesn't even _care_ , not even remembering what happened.  Later on, sure, he'll freak out about it, but for now Grunt comfortably nuzzles against the Machamp, thinking, _It's been a long time since I was the little spoon._

            The reality of the thought hits him like a truck, and Grunt instinctually jerks backwards to get away from the problem.  The Machamp's arms reflexively tighten their grip around his back and waist, which pulls Grunt frustratingly back into the warm embrace he's desperately trying to avoid.  Now he knows what it must like being a Stufful in a house with a clingy toddler... And then comes the dawning awareness that this new position has certain parts of his pressing closer to other parts of the Machamp, and that's _enough_ right there, haha, thanks!

            Grunt's panic is immediate and complete.  He flails in alarm, managing to throw himself entirely off the stack of mattresses and onto the floor.  The Machamp grunts in pain - Grunt's not sure but he probably kicked him pretty hard, there - and Grunt only has a second to spring up into a sitting position before the Machamp sits up on the bed, bracing himself with his lower arms, one upper hand rubbing at his face while the other tenderly pokes a spot near his hip.

            He says something, but of course Grunt doesn't understand him.  From the expression on his face, it was probably either sarcastic or annoyed, and Grunt struggles to look nonchalant as he looks for some kind of escape from the entire confrontation.  His stomach decides for him, and he begins rooting around for the last of the malasadas.  As far as he's concerned, this is how he wakes up in the morning - hungry and in a panic.

            He finds the conspicuously empty box in front of Buddy's hidey-hole, but since he can't challenge his own Pokemon, he's forced to give up on breakfast with a sullen glare in his Pokemon's direction.  Buddy, hiding in the dark and still asleep, doesn't even notice.  "Looks like we'll gotta go to the kitchen to get some grub," he sighs, uncapping one of the sodas left from last night.  He tosses the other one onto the bed, and answers the Machamp's questioning sounds with a shrug.  "It's where the Boss is, so we gotta go there anyway."

            He watches as the Machamp takes the soda and uncaps it, draining it the same way he had polished off the health drink yesterday.  Grunt's not sure if he's going to be able to explain what it really means to be part of Team Skull to the Machamp, but he's hoping that the guy's inner swagger will be enough to earn Guzma's seal of approval.  If not - well, then, Grunt will try to come up with something else.  He's relying on the fact that Guzma is a bro, but if his goodwill only extends to humans, then the Machamp might be out of luck.  The most Grunt could offer then would be to let him crash in his room, and... well, that's not going to be a good long-term solution, he's pretty sure.  This morning has been enough to prove it.

            Grunt catches the Machamp staring, only to realize he'd started it, zoning out on him while thinking about all the potential ways things could go wrong.  Grunt clears his throat significantly, gulping down some of his soda before deciding aloud, "We're gonna have to make you presentable, yo.  Lucky for _you_ , I got the wrong size the first time, so I got an extra pair of pants."  Until now, Grunt had expected to fill them out by just getting fat off of all the free food he was assured Team Skull got - at least now they get to be _actually_ useful.

            The Machamp looks skeptical, even after Grunt goes through all his dresser drawers to find the extra shorts.  Grunt balls them up when he finds them, chucking them in the Machamp's face, unable to help his raucous laugh as the Machamp's arms briefly pinwheel in surprise.  "Yo, just pull them on; we're gonna make sure nobody gets the wrong idea about what kinda Pokemon you are."

            Without looking up, the Machamp asks him a question, his semi-permanent scowl making a reappearance on his face.  Grunt shrugs helplessly when he finally does look - he doesn't know if that's enough of an answer, but he doesn't know what to say, or how to interpret him enough to know, so it's all he can do.  The Machamp seems to get it, at least, shaking his head before standing and pulling the borrowed pants on.  They're almost too big, which is perfect as far as Grunt is concerned, and he gives the Machamp two thumbs up in response to his visible concern.  "Lookin' good, homie.  Still don't know if you're gonna walk the walk, but at least you look tough, yo."

            The Machamp snorts, crossing both sets of arms as if he doubts it's the shorts that make him tough.  Grunt holds up his hands in defeat, nodding.  "Yeah, you look pretty badass, but only Team Skull wears this uniform, yo!"  He gestures to his own outfit - the same one he'd slept in, and the same one he'll probably sleep in again - but the Machamp doesn't look any more impressed.  "Fine, bro.  You think you're so hard, you can figure it out as we go."  When the Machamp looks around in confusion, Grunt grins and grabs his beanie and bandana.  "Yeah, bro, we're going now.  Like I said, that's where the food is."  He looks around briefly as he pulls his bandana on over his head, the knot just tight enough, and then pulls on his beanie.  "Yo, Buddy!"

            The Salandit pokes his head out of the desk, blinking slowly at the two of them before going back into the dark.  Grunt sighs, resisting reaching in in case he gets bit, and shrugs helplessly.  "Fine, I wasn't gonna bring you to get food _anyway_ ," he sulks, hiding his grin as the promise of food gets Buddy out of the desk, batting his own pokeball to trigger its return cycle.  Grunt isn't sure, but he thinks Buddy might not have a high opinion of other grunts from the way he likes to limit his interactions with them.  At least _he_ has the option - Grunt has to deal with his fellow grunts all day, every day, and he doesn't get a break unless he hides in his room.

            "Alright, bro," he says, partially to psych himself up as he turns to face the Machamp, bandana over his face and beanie hiding away his buzzed blue hair, "It's on you.  You got until we get to the Boss to figure out how to impress him, and I ain't gonna help you, yo!  If you can't figure out what it means to be in Team Skull by lookin' around Po Town, then I made a mistake _bringing_ you here."

            If the Machamp doesn't understand, he plays it cool, nodding at Grunt's ultimatum with a grim expression on his face.  Despite his almost constant apprehension about pretty much _everything_ he does, Grunt finds some confidence in how seriously the Pokemon is taking this - it means that, for whatever reason, he's going to go through with this.

            By the time they're out of the house, Grunt has worked up enough swagger for it to show as he walks, the Machamp following behind like a personal bodyguard.  His intimidation level is through the roof, but unless the guy can show his swagger, nobody's gonna believe he's Team Skull material.  Grunt said he wasn't gonna help, though, so all he can offer are a few sulky glares as they pass by groups of grunts in animated conversations, adding significant looks in the Machamp's direction as he throws hand signs towards other grunts in greeting.  As long as he can pull it off in front of the Boss... that's all that matters.

            Grunt leads the Machamp up to the partially destroyed mansion sitting at the end of the street.  The building's been through some rough times, but it hasn't collapsed in on itself yet, and there's working air conditioner during the hotter months - when they pay the electricity bill, that is.  The crumbling plaster is covered in tags, the most elaborate being the Skull painted over the windows, taking up almost an entire level's worth of wall.  Nobody's sure who painted it, but Grunt's pretty sure it was the Boss himself.  "C'mon," he says, gesturing forward as the Machamp pauses to stare at the lurching building with an expression Grunt thinks is apprehension.  "Don't trip, bro," he says, reaching over to smack him on the shoulder, glad not to see him flinch.  "You got this."

            People stare when they come in.  Grunt ignores them - well, first he flips them all off, _then_ he ignores them - and heads straight for the stairs.  Nobody tries to stop him or the Machamp as they climb to the next floor; not even the usual checkpoints stop him beyond a few aggressive, "yo's."  Grunt isn't sure if this is good or bad - as they cross the second story floor, the Machamp's posture slumps, his lower hands sinking into the pockets of his borrowed shorts, posture defensive and on alert.  It makes Grunt uneasy, like maybe he's reading the situation wrong, like maybe everyone's just waiting for Guzma to say the word and they'll...

            They'll what?  Grunt doesn't know.  Attack, maybe?  That's the scary part - he knows it can't happen, that it _won't_ happen, but he still finds himself wondering if he can take them all, if he and Buddy and the Machamp can prove their point in a fight if they need to.  Up until now, he'd only briefly considered the idea that this might turn into an all out brawl, and that had been pretty much _the_ worst case scenario.

            A grunt stops them at last, just before they reach the Boss's room.  She holds up her hand in a bored manner.  "You want the Boss to stop what he's doing to talk to _you_?" she asks, looking Grunt over and apparently not finding anything good about what she sees.  Her eyes sweep over to the Machamp, and Grunt watches as recognition flashes through her expression before she goes back to looking bored.  "I _guess_ you can go in," she says, almost reluctantly.

            Guzma is hyped up by the time Grunt and the Machamp come into his throne room; he settles into his throne as they come in but then hops up to his feet again when he sees the Machamp, glancing once before fixing his eyes on Grunt.  It's the first time the Boss has ever actually, you know, _looked_ at him since he joined.  For the first time, he's done something big enough for Guzma to take notice, and he doesn't know what to do with the attention now that he has it.  He's _imagined_ it, after all - any good grunt has, daydreaming about what it'd be like to do something worth the Boss's praise - but he never actually thought he'd amount to more than any other grunt.

            "Damn, lil' G, you don't talk or somethin'?" Guzma asks - or, well, shouts, because everything Guzma does is concluded with an exclamation point.

            Grunt lets his inner gruntiness take over, relying on the easiest tactic with the Boss - the truth.  "You got me speechless, Boss!" he exclaims, and Guzma's uproarious laughter tells him he made the right choice.

            "You're the homie with this beefy mother followin' you around, makin' everybody talk!"  Guzma lifts his chin in the Machamp's direction in greeting, his lopsided grin souring a little when the Machamp just stares back at him.  "This grim-ass wannabe grunt?  I got told all about _this_ guy last night."

            "Those guys don't know what they're talkin' about, yo," Grunt interrupts.  The Machamp gives him such a sharp look that it brings _both_ of the humans up short, and Grunt squints suspiciously back at him before saying, "I found him at the Megamart and - uh..."  He stumbles, Guzma still staring at the Machamp, and it's only when he looks demandingly back to Grunt that he finds it in him to continue.  "I dunno all what he was sayin', but I got he bounced outta his trainer's sight.  He needs a place to lay low.  I figured... y'know?  Where else are you gonna go?"

            "Hold up," Guzma says, lifting a hand.  Grunt winces, but things are officially out of his hands.  When Guzma takes a half-step forward, Grunt leaps out of his way, and the Machamp's back straightens noticeably with his hasty retreat.  Guzma stands a good half-foot taller than either of them, and he looks unimpressed as he crosses his arms and sizes the Machamp up.  "Stoic-ass bastard," he finally says, sounding even less impressed than he looks.  Grunt can feel sweat forming on his brow, nerves kicking into overdrive as his internal monologue loops, _this is bad, this is terrible!_   The Machamp's heavy brow draws down as he squints back at Guzma; he glances at Grunt, and all Grunt knows to do is gesture wildly to convey the clusterfuck of a situation they're in.

            Without warning, the Machamp shoves Guzma with his upper arms, the Boss staggering backwards with an unexpected huff.  "Yo!" Guzma shouts, surging forward on one foot to shove the Machamp back, grimacing when pushing him proves impossible.  "You think you can just waltz into Po Town and start shoving Team Skull around?"  The Boss looks pissed, and Grunt instinctively grabs his beanie, pulling it low over his ears as Guzma shoves the Machamp again.  "Well, motherfucker?  You wanna start some shit with me?  I don't need my Pokemon; I'll kick your ass myself!"

            The Machamp snarls, spitting unintelligible words at Guzma with a force that startles Grunt into stillness.  Whenever he seems to run out of things to say, Guzma challenges him with aggressive dismissals, shouting " _So what_ ," or "That's _it_?" and drawing more out of him.  Grunt can't understand any of it, but it sure seems like Guzma does.  All Grunt can read on the Machamp is his tone and face; he looks angry, the kind that boils over with every mocking comment the Boss sends his way, but it's the frustration underneath that Grunt really feels for.  Whatever he's saying, he wants to impress the Boss - or intimidate him, or put him in his place, _something_ \- but Guzma just isn't taking him seriously.  It's a feeling Grunt associates with life before Team Skull.

            The Machamp caps off whatever he's saying by shoving Guzma again, hard enough to send the Boss stumbling for his footing.  Grunt winces away from the fight he half-expects to break out.  The last thing he expects is Guzma's bellowing laughter, deep and scratchy, and the arm slap that he gives the Machamp.  The Machamp hadn't expected it either, or else Guzma is stronger than he'd let on, because he sways from the force, looking blindsided.

            "I don't know half'a the shit this guy said," Guzma says to nobody in particular, although he does look at Grunt to add, "You did okay, Grunt."

            "You, uh... got all that?" Grunt asks, glancing briefly to the Machamp before looking guiltily back to Guzma.

            "Some of it," Guzma replies.  For a moment, he scowls as though he wants to say something about it, but at last he shrugs and crosses his arms.  "All I know is, he's got no respect for nobody, and nowhere else to go - and with muscles like his, there ain't _nobody_ we can't strong-arm Pokemon from."

            "Uh, yeah," Grunt agrees, thoughts momentarily veering back to waking up as the Machamp's little spoon.  He tries to sound chill when he clears his throat, but Guzma's squint tells him he's being weird.  He puffs out his chest to distract from his awkwardness, crossing his arms and declaring, "I never heard of a Pokemon stealin' himself, yo, but we got good!"

            "I'll say," Guzma says, before shouting towards the door, "Yo, _grunt_!  Get in here!"

            The grunt standing watch outside throws open the door, posturing for a fight until she sees that nobody's getting a beat down.  She looks at Grunt with an expression he can't read, and then locks eyes with Guzma as though he's the only guy in the room.  "What's up, Boss?"

            "We got a new - uh, non-grunt to show around," the Boss tells her.  He gestures to the Machamp, pausing only for a second before commanding decisively, "You take Grim here and show him the ropes."

            Grunt's surprised that a name came so quickly, but he can't say it doesn't fit.  The Machamp looks towards him, but all Grunt can offer is a helpless shrug.  If he doesn't like it, he's going to have to take it up with the Boss.

            The other grunt looks him over, lifting an eyebrow briefly before shrugging noncommittally.  "Sure, Boss," she says, "Whatever you say."

            Grunt doesn't know where that leaves him - all he can do is tell Grim, "You can crash at my place again, homie," and watch her lead him off.  Grim looks apprehensive to do it, but he follows willingly, which is a good sign.

            Guzma stands with Grunt to watch them head across the second floor landing, and then throws an arm around Grunt's shoulders.  Grunt freezes, his muscles coiling, but if the Boss notices, he doesn't mention it, pulling him back into the throne room.  Grunt's gut tenses, instinctively expecting a sucker punch, but Guzma only gives him a heavy smack on the shoulder as he lets go, climbing back up into his throne.

            "I don't know what the hell you were thinkin', bringin' a charity case around, but what I just heard was pretty messed _up_ , yo.  Pretty sure that homie's gonna do whatever Team Skull needs him to do, as long as he don't get called out."

            "For real?  I figured... uh, well," Grunt hesitates, then shrugs and says, "I figured you'd figure it out, Boss."

            "That's exactly what you're _supposed_ to figure," Guzma says with a scowl.  "Don't you forget who's in charge."

            "I won't, Boss," Grunt says - and for what it's worth, he means it.  Even sweating bullets on the sidelines, thinking he'd made a mistake bringing the Machamp - Grim - here in the first place, Grunt had trusted Guzma to handle it.  He doesn't see a reason _not_ to - although maybe he could, if he were a grunt who relied on electricity, or who wanted three square meals a day.  From the way the Boss looks at him, Grunt imagines he's been dealing with a lot of those kinds of lackeys, and could probably use a good one right about now.

            "Grim's gonna need a keeper," Guzma says, moving on from the moment with a glance to his now-unguarded door.  "I'm putting you in charge of keepin' an eye on him, lil' G.  And if he leaves, you go with him, you hear me?"

            Grunt blinks as Guzma points at him, and then nods furiously in agreement.  "Sure, Boss," he says.  "You think he's, uh, gonna go somewhere?"

            "I dunno," Guzma mutters, rubbing his chin.  He stares out the door, and then looks back at Grunt, who doesn't know how to handle the serious expression directed at him.  "I don't know what happens to caught Pokemon that just... _leave_.  I dunno if it's ever been done before.  So, you keep an eye on him.  If he starts actin' _weird_ , we'll deal with it."

            "Uh..."  Grunt pauses.  "So, if you want me to keep an eye on him... why'd you send him off with the other grunt?"

            Guzma grins and shrugs.  "Maybe I got my reasons.  Maybe I don't!  Ain't for you to worry about, lil' G.  You go do your shit, man, and just remember - Grim does anythin' weird and you tell me first.  Bring him with if you gotta."

            "You got it, Boss."

            Coming down the stairs after the Boss slams the door behind him, Grunt feels twenty pounds lighter.  Things feel - _good_ , for lack of a better word, and he rewards himself for a job well done by eating more than his share of cereal in the kitchen.  Later, he kills time by picking a fight with the first grunt he sees, the insults turning into a shoving match pretty fast.  Before long, he and Buddy are riding high on a battle victory that Buddy carried them through.  They spend the rest of the afternoon snacking on some old chips and reading comics; Buddy doesn't understand anything going on in them, but he listens patiently as Grunt reacts to every punch and dramatic reveal.  It isn't until later, when the sun's setting, that Grunt starts to wonder what's up with Grim.  He's supposed to be keeping an eye on the Machamp, but instead he's sitting around reading comics - but it's not like he's about to go around asking after him.  Grim's officially part of Team Skull - or at least, he's on probation - and that means he's gotta be able to handle himself.

            That doesn't mean it's not a relief to hear Grim's guttural nonsense-speak outside the house.  Grunt hadn't realized he'd been so wound up about it until he feels his back muscles relax as Grim slams the door on his way in.  Even so, he doesn't get the door, and doesn't look up when Grim swings it open himself - he has a reputation as a grunt that he has to maintain, after all, and that involves absolute disinterest in anybody's business but his own.

            He finally looks up when the door slams, and finds Grim decked in a Team Skull uniform that fits him better than Grunt's single loaner pants ever could have.  It's all there now - the beanie is pulled low, nearly to his brow, and Skull bling dangles below his pushed-down bandana.  They even found a shirt with deep drops cut in the armholes to fit Grim's two sets of arms, although there must not be shoes big enough to fit the Machamp's broad feet.  Grunt doesn't even notice it at first; it had been one thing for Guzma to call the Machamp "Grim" and say he was cool, but seeing Grim in the full Team Skull outfit hammers in the strange new reality he's facing.

            For one, he's lost his single room - without anywhere else to go, and considering the Boss's orders, it only makes sense for Grim to keep crashing with Grunt for the long term.  And he only has one good mattress, which means that this morning will be normal routine - and the implications of _that_...  Grunt swallows thickly, realizes he's been staring, and _worse_ , Grim is saying something that Grunt definitely can't understand.

            He scrambles, and it's painfully obvious that he's doing it.  "The Boss told me to let you stay, so you get a free room, yo.  You got the swag, bro, you got the swagg _er_ , but you ain't exactly no grunt, huh?"

            Grim pauses, making a face before shrugging his upper shoulders, both sets of arms gesturing helplessly.  It's a move he must have picked up around town; Grunt can't tell if he's stoked to see Grim adapting so easily, or if it's too much change too fast for him.  He watches as Grim continues to move his lower hands, pointing between the two of them in an alternating pattern.  With his curious look, Grunt can only assume Grim wants to try and talk, but he's not sure how well that's going to go.  How quickly is Grunt going to piss the guy off, not understanding anything he's trying to say?

            Well, if the Boss can do it, then so can Grunt.  "Alright, homie, lay it on me."

            They talk for a long time, although it's mostly Grunt's comprehension that takes so long.  Most of the communication winds up coming from Grim's hand gestures and facial expressions, but Grunt finds himself understanding bits and pieces.  It really is a lot like charades - Grim will make a few gestures, and Grunt will call out possible interpretations.  Whenever he gets it right, Grim will nod, or smile, and once he knows Grunt gets a certain gesture, he doesn't stop to check.  Guzma, for example, is an upper-hand salute with the index and thumb making a circle - Grunt had figured it out mostly from the swaggering way Grim had done it, but he'd gotten it on the first try.  Grunts are another easy one, Grim crossing his lower arms twice in the same aggressive manner most grunts have when talking.

            Grunt isn't getting _everything_ , he knows that much - there are some things that can't be translated into hand signs and monosyllabic noises - but he tries his best.  He knows that the grunt Guzma had handed Grim off to had taken him all around Po Town.  She warmed up to him - he thinks that's what Grim means - and had introduced him around.  They'd gotten his uniform pieced together from other grunts.  He'd impressed them with his strength, too; Grunt's sure there's more to it than that, but Grim gives up trying to explain how when he runs out of ways to sign it.

            The conversation takes a weird turn when Grunt asks what Grim's deal is, anyway.  He's wanted to know the Machamp's backstory pretty much since he first laid eyes on him, and now seems as good a time as any to ask.  When he does, though, Grim looks momentarily surprised, as though he hadn't expected it to come up, and Grunt can't help but feel guilty for bringing up bad thoughts.  But Grim nods, face settling into an expression close to his nickname, and he gestures for Grunt to speak up.

            "Um," Grunt begins, running his hands through his short hair before throwing them into his lap.  "You... _left_ somewhere, I get that, but - where?  And, y'know, uh, _why_?  I ain't ever heard of a Pokemon doin' what you did, bro."

            Grim thinks it over while Grunt fidgets uncomfortably on the mattress.  He feels weird, his chest wound strangely tight under his tank top; the way Grim looks at him, all thoughtful and strangely concerned, it makes it hard for him to sit still.  Eventually, Grim starts talking, and Grunt tries to keep up.  He figures that Grim worked on a ship of some kind, and that it had been off the coast when Grim had decided to escape.  There's no measurement that translates between them; all Grim can tell him is that it was _far_ , and he'd swum it _after_ getting bitten.

            The how is easier to explain than the why.  Grunt gets even less of that; almost all the gestures Grim uses are violent and sharp, but it's too complicated to get the whole thing in one go.  Grunt does his best though, with Grim encouraging him along.  He gets that Grim's trainer was harsh, and battles with them had been more life-and-death than usual.  Somebody on the boat had been nice to Grim, and had wanted to help him - Grim isn't clear about how, but the scars dotting his body explain the _why_.  Grim doesn't seem clear himself on what had happened, but his trainer and his friend had an encounter, and it hadn't ended well.  He doesn't need Grim to tell him that jumping into the ocean had been a last ditch effort.

            "Damn," Grunt says, once Grim indicates that he's done with a wave of his hands.  "That's messed _up_."

            Grim laughs.  It's short but genuine, and it untangles a particularly big knot in Grunt's stomach.  "Well, you're cool.  You're with us now, Grim," Grunt points out, "You got a whole crew to back you up now."  He wants to punch Grim on the arm, but he's too far away, so Grunt settles for smacking his knee with an outstretched foot.  Immediately, he feels weird doing it, but Grim gives him this fond look that - it, well, makes all the knots he's got rearrange themselves.

            "How's it feel bein' so far from your pokeball?" he can't help but ask, glad to have done it when Grim frowns thoughtfully in response.  He shrugs, raising an upper hand to point at the back of his head, tapping his finger against the base of his skull.  "Like a... beat, or something?" Grunt guesses, grinning when he gets a thumbs up in return.  "Is it hard to ignore?"

            The question makes Grim pause, considering Grunt with an unreadable expression.  Finally, he shakes his head.  It's a relief to know, even if Grunt hadn't realized how much he'd wanted to know until he'd asked.  The less trouble running away causes for Grim, the better, as far as Grunt's concerned.

            Grim hesitates, then gestures to the bed, before drawing a line between Grunt and himself.  He looks - well, honestly, he looks nervous, frowning with worried eyes.  Grunt tries not to think too hard about the question when he phrases it aloud.  "Are we sharing the bed again?"  Grim nods, and the question settles in Grunt's chest, heat rushing through him at the thought of waking up wrapped up in Grim's arms again.  "Uh," he says, "Yeah, I guess.  Unless you wanna find your own space, bro."

            But Grim doesn't want his own space, apparently, shaking his head at Grunt's offer before coming over and settling on the mattress next to him, grabbing some of the comics scattered in the space between them and looking through one of them.  "You can read it, right?" Grunt asks, sticking out his tongue at Grim's unimpressed look.  "Okay, _fine_ , whatever.  Buddy likes it when I read to him, is all."

            Buddy says something from the desk that makes Grim laugh again, and Grunt is pretty sure he's getting smack talked by his own Pokemon.  At least the two of them like each other, he figures - it would suck, if they didn't.  Having to share a room with a moody, temperamental Salandit is hard enough without having a roommate Buddy hates living with him.  Still... is that any better than sharing a room with two Pokemon who can talk about him behind his back _to his face_?

            Grim says something and Buddy pokes his head out long enough to give Grunt a long, dismayed look, before chattering to Grim and eliciting another chuckle.  Grunt grabs the first comic book within reach and buries his face in it.  The jury is going to be out on whether this is a positive development or not, but at least things are starting to quickly become normal again.  As long as it stays this way, and nothing else goes crazy, Grunt will be just fine with the occasional joke at his expense in a language he can't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think my style changed a little between chapters, alas and alack i do not give a crap
> 
> please leave a review if you enjoyed this chapter! i love reading your guyses comments <3

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think with a comment if you get this far :) i'd appreciate it!


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